Neon Snow

The year is 2044.

The streets are lined with light.

The drones deliver presents through the quiet winter night.

A kid looks up and whispers, Mom, the sky is full of stars,

but half of them are satellites,

and half are just the cars.

Oh, the snow is falling digital, it glows in blue and gold,

and every flake is dreaming something nobody’s been told.

We trade our old traditions for the ones we have in mind,

and sing a brand new carol in a brand new decade.

The tree is made of fiber optic, it hums a little tune.

The fireplace is a hologram that crackles.

Every grandma’s recipe is coded in a file from long ago,

and Santa’s on a rocket ship, but nobody’s sure where he’ll go.

Oh, the snow is falling digital, it glows in blue and gold,

and every flake is streaming something nobody’s been told.

We trade our old traditions for the ones we haven’t made,

and sing a brand new carol in a brand new decade.

Maybe that’s the magic, not the snow, not the old songs,

but the way we keep on making.

I know, and the world moves on.

The future’s not a stranger, it’s the care we begin,

so raise your glass to Christmas and the ones that haven’t been.

Neon snow falling slow, in a world we don’t yet know.

Neon snow falling slow, in a world we don’t yet know.